


A Fierce Competition

by CavannaRose



Series: Rose Wilson Fics [5]
Category: Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), New Teen Titans, Ravager - Fandom, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Graphic Description, Hunters & Hunting, Violent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Wilson doesn't always read the fine print when she takes a contract, and now she's being hunted through the wilds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Rose Wilson had been many things. Daughter, assassin, Titan, addict, mercenary, villain, hero ... but tonight she had a rather unfamiliar role... Hunted. Oh certainly she'd dodged the overbearing presence of her father here and again over the years, but rarely in all that time had she ever truly feared for her life. Her current predicament, however, filled her with a few doubts.

She'd been a fool to answer the invitation, but the money offered had been more than she usually pulled in for a month's worth of jobs. Little had she guessed that the individual being hunted would actually be herself. It had all started with that damn military computer. She should have known that such things led nowhere but right into the thick of more trouble than she cared to flirt with.

The sound of breaking branches caught her attention, and the one-eyed young woman froze, not even daring to breathe as she watched her pursuers slowly make their way past her hiding spot. There were only two right now, the party must have split up to cover more ground. Rose allowed herself a small, patronizing smile. That was their first mistake.

Cautiously she slid out of the tree, twin daggers dropping into her hands from their wrist sheathes as her feet hit the forest floor. If they thought hunting a Wilson was going to be a passing fancy, they were oh so very wrong. The rules of the game were simple, they tried to kill her, and she tried to kill them back. If she got them all, she won and could return home a much wealthier woman. She hated losing.

Stalking through the underbrush like the predator she was trained to be, she relished the sudden reversal of fortune, putting on a burst of speed to catch the rear man, slicing his throat with an efficient motion before he could alert his partner. Unfortunately, that man was far more alert, turning in time to see his companion go slack in the white-haired female's arms. Shots rang out, signalling their location to the other hunters as she used the newly created corpse as a shield.

Swearing she dropped the body, rolling to safety behind a tree. She waited out the following hail of bullets, adrenaline coursing through her. Getting her jacked up was the biggest mistake her victim could have made, as it activated her ability, allowing her to know exactly where he was going to be before he even did. Coming around the tree she tossed her dagger, the blade driving through the man's skull via his eye socket.

Rose raced forwards, the forest coming alive as the rest of the hunting party rushed to converge on her current location. She ducked down, picking up the man's gun and wresting her own weapon from it's rather messy sheathe. As silent as night, she vanished into the underbrush. She may have just become prey again, but she was hardly declawed. If these men were so secure in their eventual victory, she'd just left two bloody reminders as to why the price on her head was so steep.


	2. Chapter 2

Rose had found herself a cave, up on higher ground. One entrance, one exit, not the ideal conditions but she could see the area around it for at least a mile. It was a good position to fortify and use as her base of operations, until this ridiculous game played out to it's eventual conclusion. The men hunting her thought that victory would be in their hands before the first day was out, but it was now a week in, and they were down to half the strength they started with. She smiled grimly, peeling back the skin of a squirrel with her dagger, before slicing off a strip of the raw meat and popping it into her mouth.

Unlike the force below, she couldn't risk a fire. The meat was tough, gamey, but edible, even in it's rare state. A few weeks of raw food wouldn't kill her, though she'd have to accede and pop into a pharmacy for some antibiotics when she got home, more than likely. She could already feel a rawness in her gut, a combination of tension, poor nutrition, and unfamiliar bacteria cultivating in the pit of her stomach. It was all for the money, pay day was in sight, all she had to do was eliminate four more men, and it would all be hers. Ravager grimaced, wrapping the skin back around her catch and digging a hole in the back of the cave, burying the dead rodent. The last thing she wanted was unwelcome visitors attracted by the blood and scent of death.

Adjusting her eye patch, Slade Wilson's only living child stepped back out into the gloaming, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded across the horizon. Despite the adrenaline that kept her going, the place was beautiful. If it wasn't stalked by grown men crowing for her death, it would be paradise. A small chuckle escaped her lips. Who was she kidding, if there wasn't someone out to test their mettle against her own, what kind of Eden would this be? She had acres of woods, her own instincts, and deserving victims to unleash her particular brand of violence upon. Perfection incarnate.

Cleaning her blade against her pants, unphased by the flith already crusted upon them, she sheathed it back against her wrist, checking to ensure the other was still firmly holstered. She cast a quick glance around her campsite, spreading the fallen leaves and stones back over the ground, brushing away her footprints and any sign that she had been there. No point in advertising to the creeps where she was resting her head. Though she mockingly taunted their intelligence simply by refusing to fall into their traps, they were still the best at what they did. Unfortunately for them, she was simply better.

Once more the cave resembled nothing more than an old animal den, vacated for the warm season. Nodding to herself, she slipped down the side of the cliff, dropping lightly to the ground below. She had a general idea where the fools who thought to hunt a Wilson were setting up camp for the night, and had gotten enough of a rest in that she was working, perhaps not at full power, but still better energized than they were. She was used to poor provisions and constant motion, something that the burgeoning safari poachers were not accustomed to. Years of self-inflicted privation were serving her well now.

As darkness settled over the jungle, she followed the scent of smoke on the night air. Raucous male voices could be heard up ahead, goading each other for their inability to pick up the white-haired girl's trail. From the sounds of it her age and gender made her continued existence even more circumspect, and one of the men floated the idea that their host was granting her an unfair advantage. Rose almost laughed aloud. Eight men, armed with guns, against one young woman with a pair of daggers, and they thought she was the one being given all the advantages in this scenario. She quietly moved into the branches of a nearby tree, pinpointing the voice of this particular idiot. That broad a lack of intelligence deserved to be the next to meet her blade. Fuck, the arsehole running this hadn't even let her unpack her katanas and bring them. If she hadn't traveled armed, she'd have started this adventure without a single weapon at all.

She watched as the 'gentlemen' passed a flask around, getting louder and louder as the beta male of the group cooked up something over the fire. He may have been more passive than the posturing cretins he stalked through the underbrush with, but Rose had a theory that he'd be the most dangerous of the lot. There was a gleam of intelligence, paired with the intrinsic bitterness of the oft overlooked that marked him as a problem. If she were wise, she would take him out before the chest puffing popinjay who couldn't comprehend how a trained killer could be offing grown men, just because she happened to require a bra and a fake idea to be served alcohol in most of the states. Unfortunately for Rose, she wasn't a creature that relied too heavily on logic, instead letting her emotions hold sway, and make the decisions for her.

She watched the men get more and more careless, eventually the apparent beta took his meal and settled to sleep, close to the fire but as far from the other men as possible. The loudest, the one who suggested Rose was receiving unfair assistance in their little game, struggled to his feet, declaring a need to relieve himself in rather crude terms, accentuating his point with a vulgar gesture. She smiled, easing down the trunk of the tree she was perched in. Now was her chance to strike. This was one bastard that wouldn't be placing a bullet between her eyes.

She moved silently through the underbrush, not a shaking leaf or cracking twig to indicate she had passed through. In the week previous she had learned the ins and outs of this area, and knew how to walk softly without being caught. It was a lesson being the offspring of Deathstroke the Terminator had taught her, and one she was unlikely to forget. Despite her loathing for her paternal figure, she could never doubt that the lessons he taught her aided in her survival.

The sound of a zipper opening sounded like gunfire in the quiet night, any creatures used to venturing this way scared off by the slovenly and disruptive behaviour of the hunting party. Using the sound of his piss hitting a tree to pinpoint the man's position, Rose moved into place behind him. She had no need to face an opponent from the front for a clean fight, much better to catch him from behind, with his pants around his ankles preferably, but this one she wanted to see her coming. She allowed the chuckle she'd been holding back all along escape, catching his attention.

The hunter turned, drunken confusion painted across his features, one hand loosely cupping his cock, urine still dribbling from the tip of it as she dove forward, driving her dagger into the underside of his jaw, and up into his soft palate. He gurgled, piss-dampened hands grasping for her before he stumbled back, slumping against the tree he'd been marking his territory on, and sliding into a heap in a pool of his own waste. Wrenching her blade free, Rose grinned, fading back into the foliage. One more down, three more to go. This competition was starting to get interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

The wise thing to do after making a kill so close to the hunter's encampment would be to scurry off and back into hiding, but Rose's adrenaline was up, and the flashes of foresight in her head suggested that there wasn't much in the way of wakefulness around the campfire she'd been observing. Even without her ability, she could hear at least two sets of snoring, one a high, wheezy sound, the other a raspy bass counterpoint. She shuddered, wondering how anyone could sleep through that dissonance.

As quietly as her admittedly impressive skill set permitted, she eased through the underbrush, matching her breathing to the wind rustling the leaves, pausing when it fell still. Whether there was anyone actually awake in the clearing or not didn't mean that she should be careless, it was enough that she was risking a second strike without proper forethought. Despite what many of her former team mates thought about her, it wasn't a blood lust that drove her to kill. For the most part she observed each death from a place of cool detachment, the only pleasure in the moment that of a job well done. She didn't crave killing, she didn't revel in it... most of the time. It was simply something she was good at.

One bright blue eye gleamed in the moonlight as she surveyed the hunters camp. The two snoring brutes were closest to her, the fire between Rose and the man she'd labeled the camp beta. She didn't like that she couldn't see him clearly, but he appeared to be laying still, as deep into sleep as the rest of the fuckers. It's not like he'd be able to hear her over the snorting megaliths sprawled drunkenly in the dirt.

Demonstrating a degree of patience that most would never attribute to the Ravager, she stalked into the circle of firelight, pausing with every step to listen for changes in the odoriferous cacophony of snores and flatulence. This was just another example of why Rose worked alone. Humans were disgusting creatures. Lazy and filthy. These idiotic bastards hadn't even left a lookout, unless they had intended the drunken pissing wonder she'd permanently silenced to do the honours. If so, she questioned their judgement. Rose's lip curled up in a sneer. As if they had any judgement.

After what seemed like forever, she made it to the side of the wheezing sleeper, disdain written plainly across her features as she surveyed his corpulent form, the arrhythmic rise and fall of his corpulent gut punctuating each breath. How this fat fuck expected to outlast her in the jungle was beyond Rose's ability to comprehend. Perhaps he was sly. Perhaps he was a crack shot, but he didn't have the lines of a survivor. It was a different game out here, and she was about to end his engagement within it.

Rose wasn't a tall girl, her mother's Cambodian heritage stunting her at a mere 5'4". This, combined with her gender, made so many arrogant fuckweasels think she'd be an easy target. What they didn't understand was she was so much more than the offspring of Slade Wilson, death for hire. Oh sure he had pumped her full of serum and trained her until she nearly broke, but Lillian Worth had been made of stern stuff herself. Rose had learned to fight before she even knew the name Deathstroke. Barely on the cusp of her teenage years she'd stared her paternal uncle, a man of particular cruelty, right in the eye as he tortured her and she'd never cried out once. The white-haired mercenary was bred to survive, and if that meant killing, she could do that too.

She crouched beside the largest man left alive, her filthy dagger in hand. She hadn't cleaned it since piss-boy, but that didn't matter. She didn't need a smooth kill. Not here. Placing the sticky blade directly against the man's neck, she covered his mouth with her hand, grinning as his eyes popped open while she forced the edge deep into his jugular. The man flailed, hands instinctively going to his neck as she pushed down on his face, preventing any attempt at yelling from escaping him. It took quite a bit of her enhanced strength, his size so much greater than hers, but that didn't matter.

Ravager didn't relish this death as she had the preening popinjay by the tree. The smile was there simply to horrify her victim further. Instead she kept to the back of her own mind, dispassionately observing what was going on. The man with the deep, rumbling snore didn't even flinch, the rise and fall of his own nasal sounds wavering not even once while his companion bled out beneath Rose's hand. Finally her prey stopped moving entirely and she stood up, this time taking a moment to clean off her dagger on the man's shirt.

Just then that part of her that lived a moment ahead when her adrenaline was high flashed, and the teen killer's gaze was drawn across the fire. The supposed beta male was staring at her, eyes glowing with the flickering firelight. She froze, head tilted to one side, gauging whether to fight or flee. With a popping noise, the fire flared revealing his entire face for an instant. The man smiled coldly and nodded once to her, before closing his eyes.

Deeply unsettled, she fled the scene. Brain spinning as she dodged between tree trunks, taking a circuitous route back to her own bolt hole. How long had he been watching? What game was the fucker playing? Was he trying to take home a greater piece of the prize money? Was he trying to get into her head? Rose swore long and low, deciding at the last minute to skip her cave retreat for now and find somewhere new, and preferably high off the ground, to wait out the aftermath of her little visit. This put a whole new wrinkle in the game. One she did not like. Not one bit.


	4. Chapter 4

Rose called herself every kind of fool in the book. Sure she only had two competitors left, but she had gone in half-cocked, and now she wasn't entirely certain what the quiet man was up to. He'd just watched her kill one of his supposed team mates. What the fuck did that mean? She angrily slammed her fist into the nearest tree, the pain shooting through her knuckles calming her, centering her. Deep breaths, girl. Deep breaths. She ran her now slightly bloody fingers through her hair, sticky with sweat from the heat and exertion. This place was getting to her. That's all it was. A week of poor sleep, poor nutrition, and constant paranoia didn't do anyone any good.

Letting out another slow breath, the one-eyed assassin carefully shimmied up the aforementioned tree, perching somewhat comfortably in the branches as the sun slowly began to rise over the horizon. Unlike back at the hunters camp, even Rose's temporary outburst of vitriol couldn't scare the native fauna, birds and insects starting up their morning cacophony as the sky lit up in brilliant pinks and oranges over the verdant sea of vegetation. The place truly was beautiful, but for her it was ruined. She had been a fool to answer that job advertisement, no matter how sweet the payment had sounded, and now the piper was rapping at the windows, demanding to be paid.

Certainly she had given the supposedly expert Big Game Hunters a battle far beyond their expectations. Eight men had scoffed at the slender young woman they'd been introduced to, but they had no idea. Her father was the ultimate hunter, and he had trained her very, very well. They may not see eye to eye... she paused to snicker at that ... but they both believed in hard work, and perfecting your craft. Everything she'd needed to know for this entire endeavor had basically come right out of Slade Wilson's handbook.

This was how Rose found herself, for the first time in a long time, wondering what would her father do, if he had been in this scenario? One didn't always have the gear they wanted, or the upper hand, but if you weren't going to be a winner, then you didn't deserve to be a Wilson. The unknown, quiet man would have to wait. Always tackle the problems you understood first. One last popinjay remained, and taking him out would be simple. The real trick would be separating the two. All sorts of plots and plans spun through her head, the sun finally reaching it's zenith over the noisy jungle paradise. The wildlife was a better alarm system than money could buy, and, plots still unfolding, Rose allowed herself to drift off for some much-needed sleep. If things got quiet, she'd be awake in an instant.

Partly due to her enhanced nature, partly due to paranoia and the fact that she was sleeping wedged against a tree trunk, she woke only a few short hours later. She wasn't as rested as she'd hoped to be, but it was better than nothing. She tightened her belt against the grumbling hunger, the few bites of uncooked rodent from the previous day would have to suffice for now, she didn't have time to go hunting... not for food anyway. There were two men still out there, and they were rather intent on killing her. Well she had not earned the title Ravager by letting others have their way. It was a title that had been held by her uncle, whom she had killed with her own two hands, and her oldest brother, whom she had only met in death, when the Blackest Night had threatened to swallow them all. It was a family heirloom, of a sort, one with a grisly past. Some would consider the brutal ends met by the previous holders of the name bad luck, but not Rose. She would do what the others could not. She would be the Ravager that lived.

That being said, she had killing to do. The white-haired girl circled back towards the hunters' camp, hoping to catch the trail they'd taken the day, following them from behind while she decided how best to drive the pair apart to make killing them off easier. Despite the disaster that was their campsite, and the stench of two corpses rotting in the quickly mounting heat of the day, it was hard to find the trail they'd taken out of the camp. Perhaps it was the fact that there were only two of them left, or perhaps these two were just better at what they did than the rest, but eventually she did catch their trail. She was losing valuable time, though.

The teen mercenary padded silently along the barely visible path, having to backtrack several times as she lost it, needing to search extra hard for the subtle signs that two grown men had passed by. The barest hint of a footprint in the dirt, a broken twig. Trailing them was grueling work, and the jungle was swiftly becoming scorching. That had been the worst part of all this, the unrelenting, brutal heat that fried your brain inside your skull. If it weren't for the dense canopy, Rose was sure she'd have expired from sunstroke long before these idiots could locate her.

It took most of the day, but she finally caught up with the hunters at a watering hole where they'd stopped to camp and eat. Once more the observant male she'd been mentally referring to as the Beta went about gathering wood for a fire and prepping food, while the second man griped about the heat, the bugs, and Rose herself loudly. She was fairly certain that every trail sign she'd encountered had been this buffoon's. The other was too slick, too neat to make such mistakes. Silent as sin, the young assassin moved along the underbrush, picking her position carefully. She found a tree that looked easy to climb, slowly dragging herself into it's branches, careful not to draw attention with jerky motions. Once ensconced in a comfortable nook, she surveyed the scene at the waterside once more.

Beta was stirring the cook pot, eyes on the alert, scanning both the water and the forest's edge in a thorough grid pattern. Whiny had found himself a soft patch of moss to sprawl out on, and was taking a load off, hat perched over his face. Rose weighed her options carefully. She only had the two daggers, and though she was fairly certain she could hit the fucker, was it really worth reducing her arsenal by half? She'd only have the cleverest of her competitors left, and she might need the advantage of a secondary weapon. Whatever she decided, it would have to be fast.

Whiny twitched just as Beta's gaze landed on Rose's tree, and she knew that she had to do something before all hell broke loose. Hoping that she wasn't about to make the biggest mistake of her life, she took aim, throwing the dagger with pristine accuracy, pinning the bitchy bastard's hat to his face, dagger through the top and right through his eye, into his brain. Beta made a startled sound and Rose flung herself from her perch, hitting the underbrush shoulder first and rolling to lessen the impact. Better to risk a dislocated shoulder than a broken ankle out here.

Beta pursued her, shots from his gun whizzing by as she zigzagged between tree trunks. She had youth, Slade's serum, and surprise on her side, but it still took a staggeringly long time to lose her pursuer. Finally, when even she was winded, sweat pouring down her face, pooling beneath her eye patch uncomfortably, she could hear no more sounds behind her. She'd managed to lose Beta, the last man on her tail.

Rose pulled off the tattered remains of her tank top, sopping up the sweat from her face as she sat on a decaying log in just her shorts, bra, and dagger sheathes. She had to end this today. Any longer, and the weariness and malnutrition would grant Beta the victory that his skill had yet to achieve. Eyeing the clearing she was in, an idea came to the girl. Perhaps plots and strategy weren't her strongest point, but this one... She thought it might work.

She took her time, carefully building a little lean-to near the edge of the clearing, camouflaging it with all the skills that Slade had taught her until it was nearly invisible. The untrained eye could never locate it. Then she moved off, further into the jungle, laying face down in the underbrush, mud and blood masking the shine of her white hair until it was filthy and greyish. Nothing that would stand out in the piles of detritus along the jungle floor. Sure enough, Beta wasn't that far behind, moving through the forest's edge with the patience and skill of a practiced hunter. He was dangerous, moreso than even she had guessed. He definitely saw the lean-to, camouflage notwithstanding, but he didn't approach it, instead circling wide around it, right towards where Rose was.

This was the hardest thing she'd ever done, this waiting. She held absolutely still, barely breathing, until she heard the nearly silent approach of feet. Clearly he was searching for her, what he didn't understand was that was what Rose had planned for. She rolled across the underbrush suddenly, driving her dagger into the man's ankle, just above his boot, and headbutting him in the knee, knocking him to the ground. His pistol went off and Rose wrapped her skinny arms around the elbow of his gun hand, wrenching with all her strength, knees braced against his ribcage as she felt the satisfying pop of the joint giving. His weapon fell, useless now that his hand couldn't properly close, and the young woman released his arm, using the strength of her abs, and legs that she wrapped around his waist, to drag her up to a sitting position over him.

The man struggled, one-handed, to reverse their places, trying to get the upper hand, but Rose was high on her success, adrenaline pumping, and despite her small frame, she had the strength to match any unenhanced human. She drove the heel of her hand into his nose, breaking it and further distracting him. As he tried repeatedly to punch her in the temple, she managed to catch his hand with one of hers, struggling to pin it down as she brought her free hand down repeatedly on his nose. She let out a shriek of rage, pummeling his face again and again, not even noticing when he stopped fighting her.

Finally exhausted, she sagged against the man's chest, heavy breaths escaping her. She was covered in blood and filth, hands still clenching with the need to crush something. Just then a phone chirped, the sound hollow after the gunshot that had echoed so close to her head. Taking a moment to process the anachronistic moment, Rose pawed through the man's vest until she found his phone. A message came up on the screen, and she scowled.

{Congratulations, Ms Wilson. Money has been wired to your account.}


End file.
